


The Mighty Banshaen

by ShinysMindPalace



Category: Kingdoms of Amalur
Genre: Bestiality, F/M, Mind Control, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spitroasting, Unbirthing, Ventplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinysMindPalace/pseuds/ShinysMindPalace
Summary: I wrote this a while ago, i'm just posting it without editing.





	1. Once in a Century Bloom

The perpetual whisk of the wind through the sandy columns of the canyons of Detyre never failed to torment Varaknu. When the sun is up, the wind throws sand in your eyes and heat under your skin, but when the sun goes down, the wind bites, chilling to the very bone, even through Varaknu's fur. So a cavern they took, Varaknu and his small clan, for shelter from the merciless wind and the scornful sun. Still, even with the traces of moisture that dribble down from the walls, and their desert-hardened bodies barely in need of water, Varaknu knows that a better source than licking the cave would be needed. The water of the walls should go to plants so they can eat. 

So out Varaknu set, the sandy kobold showing the silver-grey stripes of an elder, despite his barely having joined in adulthood. Into the sands, he wanders, a scavenged burlap sack on his back from a gnomish caravan, slain by the hand of some terrifying creature of much greater height and skill. They had been near the salt caves, or at least, what had been. In the years of his youth, Varaknu's clan lived in the salt caves, enjoying the uncovered miracle and the small well within. Then the gnomes came, and Varaknu's clan grew small. Soon after, dead tall ones defied the life they were given and walked the sands about it, preventing Varaknu from retaking his childhood home, even if it was finally empty. 

Now, all that remains of that strange caravan are some metal shirts, weird boot-things that fit no one's feet, and their overturned wagon, where Varaknu heads, to relax in its shade and wait for the night. Perhaps this time, he would find something new inside it. Creatures of all walks rest in the purple-skin (or is it cloth? Bah, civilized life has too many words) of the wood cart, and those with good eyes find trinkets. And trinkets can be traded, either with the terrifying beasts with hammers on the cliffs, or the gnomes and tall ones who pass by. 

Looking around, Varaknu crawls inside the cool shade, sighing and poking his spear in further, a small rattlesnake already inside. Ah, perfect. With an expert stab in the dark, Varaknu beheads the creature, and settles inside its hiding place to dine on its flesh in the cool shade. The sun passes him by, slowly sinking below the horizon, but it doesn't stop the world from being bright. Perhaps it is the glowing eyes all wild fae are wont to have, or perhaps it is his upbringing, but as Varaknu gazes over the dunes and gorges, his eyes finally light on a distant twist in the road. As soon as the sun ceases to strike within the gorge, he darts from his hide, knelt and ready as he slips towards the cliff. He checks every angle before he leaps, tucking into a rolling landing and shaking the sand off himself as quick as possible. The snake's skin hangs from the cart, dried in the sun, but it would be unwise to leave it unattended if he wants it when he comes back. So, he disguised it with brush and fur, making it look like he had simply shed on the corner of the wagon instead, enough to deter some and put off most. With his clever scheme in mind, he darts out across the sand.

While his feet carry him with the swiftness of the very wind he loathes so much, it seems to take eternities to reach the bend in the rock, where the wild fae, tired from cold and running, believes a road to be. Rounding the corner, Varaknu's heart falls as he sees an oasis, yes, complete with lorestone and a century bloom, but within those clear waters, befouling it with their stink, are a pack of sandy Murghan, with their Banshaen leader in their midst. What's worse, those ugly blue crystals seem to grow from her flesh, some of them turned blood red, others merely purple as they go through the transition. Varaknu's spear is in his hands, but his grip is shaky, and the Banshaen can see it. Standing his ground, Varaknu walks forward, into the center of the opening. 

"... Please, creature, spare me the night." Varaknu croaks, the coarse tongue of the Banshaen harsh on Varaknu's squeaking and chirping voice. "I rest, I leave, I harm not your kind." 

The Banshaen gives a contemptuous look, but signals her Murghan to approach. Circling Varaknu, the Banshaen speaks clearly, with an almost hypnotizing native tongue, "Stay. But leave your weapons before the Century Bloom, so you may prove you mean no harm." They both know its a formality, but seeing no other choice, Varaknu sighs, nodding and lowering his spear. While the murghan don't assault him, they don't leave him either, following his path to the century bloom, where he lay his pack and spear - his only worldly possessions - beneath its swollen bud. 

"It pleases. I am grateful." Varaknu wheezes, coughing desert dust from his lungs. The Banshaen's tongue is cruelest for kobolds. "May I drink? Eat? Sleep?" Varaknu doesn't want to overstay her hospitality, so best be blunt and find his limits. 

The banshaen almost looks put off by such a thing, crossing her arms. "Yes, you may eat, drink, and sleep. My children are to hunt, but they will once you offer tribute," Varaknu's eyes widen, but when his gaze falls to his pack, she shakes her head. "No, no trinket you can offer will appease." 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Varaknu looks back at the banshaen, easily upright a few feet taller than he, and well-fed. He needs a miracle to make it out of this alive, but hopefully, her demands are genuine and not misleading. "You want me to lie with you? Or bring you food?" 

"The former, if you will. I've come to find myself... Lacking, in the fertility department, and I suspect it is because I am the only banshaen I know in all of these many canyons. There are few murghan with whom I can restore my fertility, and none I have seen, let alone met. You, however, may make an acceptable substitute. Do you think you're up to the task, senior?" She taunts him, patting her scaly hip and making Varaknu tremble. There is strength in his limbs yet still, perhaps if he performs well, he might call this place a resource to his clan. They could easily find another cave. 

Varaknu gives a solemn nod. "I will do best. I am not old." Varaknu doesn't want her getting the wrong idea - he's still young and virile, fresh and strong. If this works, she'll have lots of strong babies, and if it doesn't... He doesn't think about that. He can't keep his knees from feeling hollow at first, but something makes him meet her glowing eyes, and the fear in his heart is no more, only a fire in his heart (and his loins) to drive him to please her. He goes willingly, taking the banshaen into his arms lovingly, pulling her close and pressing flat-lipped kisses to her neck, fingers trailing over her fin, careful not to brush her crystals. 

Rumbling, the banshaen signals her murghan to prepare, spears being set aside as a few guard the entrance to their little paradise, the majority of them removing what little they had chosen to wear and setting it aside in the shade of the Century Bloom. The enchanted kobold is as good as dead, but an effective façade is best kept until the end. Besides, who doesn't want to have a little fun in this harsh desert climb? Murghen circle the banshaen and her kobold, the creature's vent already beginning to open and make way for their fleshy, knotted cock. While only the tip is barely visible, the Banshaen's fingers still trail down his side, tracing his hip until she reaches the small protrusion, rubbing over it, before intentionally pushing it back inside him.

Poor Varaknu whimpers, his hips giving a stuttering jerk as his nails dig into her back, his legs spreading to welcome her. "Please.... I want to, please..." He begs softly, desperately latching on to a slick nipple, slightly rough tongue prickling against every single nerve ending on the way there. He suckles, yellow eyes pleading with the banshaen, but she will not relent, instead leaning back to enjoy the sensation with a tittering sigh. Her fingers slip inside his vent, where she draws her nails up along the sensitive skin, his knees shuddering as he keens helplessly. He's already erect, but her damn hands are keeping him from demonstrating it in the most agonizing of pleasurable ways. In the back of his mind, he wonders how she knows so much about this all as she presses two fingers, one on each side, to his knot, rubbing in slow, even circles to drive the kobold wild.

Safe to say, it works, Varaknu practically clamping his legs around her upright form as her murghan finally take their places, grabbing the kobold's shoulders and yanking him back, the Banshaen grabbing his hips to keep him close to her. He squeaks in distress, but the spell keeps him from resisting as his penis is finally set free of his vent, the twitching six inch fleshy rod looking so different from his maize-colored belly. She rolls her hips against him as he finally does hold tight to her with his legs, allowing her a free hand to once again begin to toy with him. 

The murghan get to work, their more finlike hemipenes at the ready, and the one holding his shoulders takes first dibs, grabbing his jaw to force Varaknu's lips apart, shoving both of his thick hemipenes into the kobold's startled maw. It would be a worryingly tight fit for another murghan, but kobolds are a delightful species of flexible and spindly bodies, Varaknu's jaw stretching open and cheeks puffing out as the murghan grabs Varaknu's ears, using them as handles to thrust their way into his throat. The kobold gags, gripping the murghan for a feeling of stability, and pulls back, panting with a line of spit connecting his lips to the murghan's genitals. "Go slowly... Done this before." He explains softly, and the murghan cackle as they let him take the lead.

Upside-down and having a powerful banshaen giving him a hand job, Varaknu admittedly hasn't done this sort of thing before, and only hopes that one blowjob he gave himself a few weeks ago is enough experience to save his life. So, tentatively, he reaches out, that rough catlike tongue lapping along the frilled undersides of the hemipenes presented, the murghan burbling in approval as Varaknu works him over. He only falters when the Banshaen slides her fingers into his vent once more, practically fucking the shallow orifice and making the kobold arch his back to the sky. His motions are more sloppy, desperate, and his breath carries a sort of heat with it that spurs the others into action. Taking his hands from the one getting a blowjob, Varaknu whimpers as his furred fingers meet their twin erections, the murghan holding him up in return. His reluctance washes to the wayside however when the banshaen presses against the underside of his knot, dragging her fingers back and forth to reward him for pleasing her murghan. 

He's desperate, really, to have sunk this low, but as the first murghan's hemipenes again disappear into his mouth, he simply closes his eyes and tries to imagine he's with his clan, with his mate, Caertha, and he's simply sharing in the delight of another kobold. Really hard to delude himself into believing when his fingers curl in murghan slime, but he tries, sliding his fingers on either side of each of their hemipenes, his thumbs pressing into the tops of their vents as he slowly slides them along their lengths, working them over as best he can. Meanwhile, his throat welcomes the murghan intruder much more readily than he would have thought, the heat of embarrassment coiling in his belly as he swallows the creature down to the vent, sucking hard and running their tongue over them. 

It doesn't take long for both the murghan and the kobold to climax, though the murghen do first, intentionally ejaculating all over his chest and stomach, though the one who fucks his throat simply came inside him instead. Varaknu meets his climax soon after, when a pair of helpful murghan decide to treat his cock to a double-team blowjob, the two of them licking and sucking at opposite sides of his sensitive organ. He doesn't give much, but the muffled howl that leaves him has some murghan laughing, and Varaknu goes limp, panting and hanging from the Banshaen's grip. He doesn't even notice when she unhooks his feet from around her, but he is too exhausted to even fight it when she draws his ankles together, though he does scream when she shoves them in her mouth.

In seconds, she pulls him down her gullet, murghan spunk and all, and as her stomach bloats with a meal that will likely last her weeks, her prismere back begins to glow and spark, another pair of crystals turning blood red as she grins, patting her belly. "Now you may rest, little kobold. But you won't need food and water anymore. Oh well, more for me."


	2. A Tale of Detyre: The King And Queen

Varaknu wasn't entirely certain he would see the light of day again, yet when his confused and lanky form finds his pod being thrown to the sands, splitting open shortly thereafter, Varaknu's mind begins to race. Where is he? Who is he? What's going on? 

His body reports back as quickly as it can, glowing blue-hued eyes opening to behold the canyon he remembered being taken in, finned ears registering the sand and the gnawing emptiness of his rumbling stomach, and a lengthened jaw shifts open to draw in air from a stifled cloud. His skin is not quite what it was, rubbery in places, with plumes of fur remaining where it had been thickest - on his chest, back, hips, and framing his face - and the scaly skin of a murghan stretching over the rest. Varaknu's vent feels odd, remembering rather fondly what had happened just before they relented to oblivion, but he dismisses it as he closes his fists, setting his jaw and working himself to a stuttering sitting position. Eyes finally grazing the ground, Varaknu took in the murghan, a few more in their number now, that had imprisoned him, and beside him, the Banshaen. Varaknu's first instinct is to rise and leave, but like before, his desire to flee her runs from him as his eyes meet hers. Grinning, she leans down, plucking him off the ground from his pod, his things below the bloom's pod where they had left them, alongside a suit of leathers. 

The Banshaen's fingers comb through Varaknu's fur as she finally speaks, Varaknu's focus returning to her in surreal slow motion. "Welcome back, traveler. I bet you think you're dead, don't you?" 

"You see, Varaknu, I have given you everything you ever wanted." The Banshaen's gentle voice seems to soothe Varaknu's nerves, the confused hybrid clinging to her for some ground of sanity. Her fingers run through his mane as the heat of midday sits heavy like a petulant toad, wishing only to spite the living to mock the dead in this land. "Indeed, Varaknu," The banshaen - and his master, now that Varaknu contemplates the idea - calls his attention back to her fanged lips, her grin almost too wide for her face. "I have given you what I myself can never have: Freedom to do as you please in confident service to a just god. You will want for nothing but my praise, and you will earn it as easy as you breathe. It is I who is burdened by your glory, for I must put you to task. Tell me, Varaknu..." She pauses, letting her creation think.

"Yes, mistress?" Varaknu almost feels like vomiting at the words, so alien they are in his mouth, this tongue, like his own, now, is as alien to him now as the body he lives in. Movement comes naturally, but motion is unnatural, and it will take much getting used to for Varaknu to regain his previous coordination. 

The banshaen smiles, scritching behind a finned ear to console him. "Are there others like you? I would make you an army of your comrades, fit with immortality like yours, if only you would lead me to them." The banshaen offers, and in the back of his mind, Varaknu knows he couldn't resist, even if he wanted to.

"Will you protect the sick and the weak?" Varaknu asks after a moment, glowing blue eyes meeting the now surprised Banshaen's own. "I was fooled and tricked into my immortality. While I cannot complain about the results, I am aware you are cunning." Varaknu's voice feels more like his own with every word, oh how naturally his understanding of her tongue seems to flow! Its at once as terrifying as it is... Liberating, being able to speak. To express things his born tongue could not. In the back of his mind, he only wishes it were a gift he got by his own hand, not by hers, but a gift is a gift, no matter how dry and rotted. 

The banshaen, or Mistress, sits back, thinking to herself as she keeps petting her creation. "... Varaknu, why do you care for the low? They only ever end up serving to slow beings like you and I down. Why limit yourself?" 

"I know nothing else. But I do know the sick become healed, and the weak become strong, when given shelter. I will not lead my clan into a den of gnomes un-armed. So assure me you are here to trade." Varaknu's tone seems to set the banshaen on edge, but Mistress eventually nods. 

"I... Promise, I will keep your brood. Take a pair of my protectors with you, and lead your kin to me. I will do unto them as I have unto you. Is that amendable?" She's definitely on edge, but Varaknu agrees with a short nod, standing on wobbly legs and grabbing hold of the nearest murghan, a pair of runts from Mistress' first brood. At least they won't be missed, but Varaknu... No. The banshaen keeps her mouth shut as Varaknu staggers towards the entrance to their enclosure, his scaly skin moist despite the overbearing heat that seems to rest in the dune bowl between the cliffs. 

To Varaknu's great delight, however, he finds he can see clearly across the sands, despite the shrill sun's glare. It even seems quieted, as if the Banshaen calmed it just for him, and with an eager mind and light heart, Varaknu begins his trek back along the rim of the dunes. His home is not far, and he will make it, he's certain. His clan will hail him a hero, he knows it.


	3. Roof of Leafs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spoilers in here. i mean, i guess detyre was spoilers too, but turn back if you wanna.

It's been a damn long trek, finding places to water both his queen and his clan, but Varaknu has finally done what has never been done by kobold or banshaen. He has finally led his clan from the dank caves where they struggled to cling to life, into new strength, and finally, new lands. As they walk the road between short, stony cliffs to greener, stranger pastures, his heart is as light as his eyes. While his Mistress could well slither on her own, she has managed little other than slowing their trek with complaints of pains in her back and body, more prismere crystals seeming to sprout from her every day. So in lieu of letting her lock their pace, they devised a sort of ramshackle litter for her, carried by her murghan, protected by his clan. 

Cresting the hill with Mistress in tow, Varaknu surveys the road ahead with a proud stance and his trusty spear in hand - fortified with gnomish engineering and blessed with prismere, the red-tipped steel blade cuts through rock with the right throw. The land below their vantage is a green, dark and verdant one - swelling his heart with both homesickness and pride as he sees just how like it was to their childhood home in the salt caves. Now populated with all manner of pesky creature, Varaknu shifts the grip of his spear to the fore, preparing himself as he watches the cluster of brownies loot a caravan, dead humans littering the road. This is not to be trifled with, certainly, but neither is Varaknu as he motions to his soldiers, his clansmen, his people, to circle the brownies, and with a shrieking warcry, the brownies are sent hastily back into the Cycle. 

Its hard to stay focused on the world around him, what with the taste of flesh in his teeth, the thrill of the hunt still beating in his chest more lively than a boggart in a kaleidoscope of butterflies, but Varaknu's sparking blue eyes manage to look beyond the cart, surveying the Sidhe and the curious things that walk among its massive columns. The banshaen had told him stories of the pillars holding up the green, their surface covered in what she called "bark" (a very silly name indeed, since it doesn't even make a sound) and their ends sprouting... Oh! Leafs! That was what she called them. It doesn't make much sense to the desert-dwelling cavern kobold that Varaknu once was, but quietly, he remembers that he is not. His new form feels natural, yes, but thinking on it always makes his stomach turn, bringing Varaknu back into focus as he eats. Seeing fit to climb the cart, Varaknu stands atop the highest stack of stuff he can make, keen eyes taking the wilderness for caverns, food, anything, but the foliage is too thick here for him to see much at all. 

So incensed by his task, Varaknu doesn't notice his Mistress' litter approaching until she dismounts it, pulling herself into the cart. "I think this would work much better, don't you agree, Varaknu?" She coos, the startled hybrid almost falling from his perch, his spear readied. 

"I... Think so, but we should find shelter first. The last of my kin are almost ready, aren't they? They will need time to adjust, and safety. This... Seems clunky. It might draw a lot more attention than we need." Varaknu explains, looking the cart over, but the Banshaen simply pulls him close, petting his head as she ignores his council. 

"This will be better in the long run. Come, let us find a hollow, or some water. The water runs lowly here, for it has much shade." The banshaen instructs, Varaknu sighing and nodding, wrapping his spindly arms about her. 

"... You worry me, Mistress. But I will do as you have asked." Varaknu murmurs into her shoulder, pressing his fuzzy face to her neck. "Will you stop fussing over our plans when we find shelter? Water can be brought..." 

"No, Varaknu, you know I must keep fussing. After all, how else will I ensure your success?" She jokes, her hybrid making an irritated sound, before she plants a kiss on his forehead, the once-kobold making a face and dismounting the cart. 

"I can ensure my own, Mistress. You have given enough. Now rest, we will begin moving again when all have eaten." Varaknu pats the side of the wagon, helping the litter-bearers place the litter and their remaining food inside the cart alongside the Banshaen, ensuring they have a comfortable way to pull the cart before giving the order to pack up and head out. Food is scavenged and bones are kept, the small kobolds who are much too young to be transformed dining on the sweet marrow within as they resume walking once more. The ground is much harder, their feet sore and toes spread wide for purchase, but the kobolds seem to get along just fine, their complaints for rest seeming to have abated in the shade of this place. 

The cart squeaks much more than Varaknu ever imagined, but it seems only to annoy him, other creatures seeming to keep their distance for the moment. They are an oddity, but their novelty will wear thin within the hour, Varaknu is certain, and their protection from the other creatures' curiosity along with it. The road is open, a herald in the din of the underbrush, calling their name as they follow it through what seems to be a lost labyrinth - before it delivers them to the greatest sight these desert-dwellers have ever seen, a huge (by their standards) and lazy river, the few sprites nearby looking upon their band with caution. Sadly, their caution wasn't enough to defend against Varaknu's clan, as the once-kobolds shout and fall upon the damned fluttery things. The blood that runs in the river does little to detract from the glorious, ever-precious flavor of the life-giving river, kobolds and murghan alike happily stooping to drink and roll in it, the kits even afraid of so much water in one place. Why, its moving so fast, it might swallow them up! But no, here, in the heart of the Faelands, a place that had been rumor until the recent dawn, Varaknu assures the kits that indeed, they will not be swept away. They simply will drink, and they will be full for as long as they wish to be. 

The river is sweet to his kin, but when Varaknu doesn't see the Banshaen out to join them, he climbs back into the cart. Lying on her side, his mistress seems to be dozing, though Varaknu's heart falls as his gut foretells the inevitable. "... You never were a god, mistress." He murmurs, sitting down beside her, laying against the coil of her body. She stirs, focusing dull blue eyes on his. 

"Mmm?" She yaaaaawns, rubbing her eyes. "I didn't hear you... Are we there?" 

"No, mistress. But we have found water. Do you think you can make it?" Varaknu's tone is soft, the banshaen wearily looking out of the cart. 

"... I will try. Hopefully, it will make me feel much better about moving." She jokes, her smile faltering under Varaknu's knowing stare. "Don't look at me like that, help me out." Huffing with effort, the Banshaen straightens up, her swollen belly straining to contain the last of Varaknu's clan still kobolds, and Varaknu helps her to the verdant earth. She wobbles upright, but she visibly struggles to even make it the few feet needed to reach the water's edge. Her murghan help her pull herself into the lazy current, and she sighs, skin crackling with long-held heat as she makes contact. The whole band can feel something stirring in them as the banshaen ducks her head below the surface, gulping as much water as she can fit in her mouth, her body hissing and sputtering, the crystals in her back pulsing and... Turning blue again. In fact, every last one turns blue once more, and begin to crackle with energy, lightning seeming to quicken her pace and restore her body, before a shockwave goes out from her. The whole clan gasps as their hearts jolt into motion, and they too feel the power of lightning stirring in their bellies, the desert having stolen from them what the Banshaen are known for - lightning. While most eyes simply turn a sparking blue, Varaknu's body seems to be unique, in that his core seems to shudder, his knees buckling, and his skin splits as four short crystalline spikes erupt from the back of his shoulders, the not quite prismere growths crackling with energy as his skin glows from within, lightning dancing in his flesh like blood in a vein. His kin oooh and ahh, the murghan simply too dumbfounded to understand, but the banshaen... Ahh, she knew this would happen all along. And boy is she glad they found the river.

"So... Think you wanted to find shelter first?" The Banshaen teases, the weak-kneed Varaknu groaning and falling back on his behind to take in what just happened. The banshaen snickers. "I thought not. Perhaps you ought to ride with me?"


	4. Dealings with Them

They're a curious lot, Varaknu sees, those furless things that walk about the strange wood-rock in this dewy, lush place. The Banshaen had said they were called Almain, but the ones with pointy ears were Alfar; Varaknu fails to see the difference. The darkest ones are the quietest, the lighter ones seeming to bear great strength, yet none of them can see past their own short, flattened noses to reap the rewards of this cradle called the Sidhe. 

Sitting atop one of many falls in this place, Varaknu's clan rests in the stream behind him, his Banshaen at home in a nearby hollow, complete with thresh and hidden lake. Varaknu had been tasked to watch over them, but leaning against the oddly-carved rock at the rim of the river, Varaknu can't be bothered to care. This place... Its like a paradise to any desert-dweller. So why does he feel so out of place? This is what he's re-made for, this should feel natural, and indeed it often does. But as his ear presses to the stone, listening to the whispers of creatures unknown, Varaknu finds himself yearning for the scald of sun on his shoulders, for the soft sands and shifting dunes of his home of Detyre. It is what he knows, it is where he is meant to be. And yet... So too is he meant to be here.

He sighs, closing his eyes, focusing on the whispers growing louder under his attention. Varaknu doesn't notice the stone falling slightly as he feels the songs of the Court of Summer in his breast, their ballads singing in his head and their deeds lightening his feet, begging him to dash into the woods and complete them of his own. He's unsure how long he listens to the babbling of the Summer Court, of knowledge, not words, passed into his lonesome mind, but the chill of the river returns him to attention. Alas, when his focus leaves the lore, so too does the lore leave him, plunging him into reality like a diver into a river. 

When he turns, he sees no one, electric blue eyes beginning to widen with worry as he searches the Sidhe's thick, rolling landscape for his clan. Unable to discern hide nor hair, he rises, shivering and finding his lower body soaked, the evening breeze cutting to the skin despite still being mildly warm. Wrapping his arms around himself, Varaknu sets out, taking the best route he can remember back to the cave. 

Sadly, the Sidhe is known for being difficult to navigate, leaving poor Varaknu lost and alone at the edge of a clearing, looking up at the odd wood-stone the alfain inhabited - er, wait, Almain? Agh, it doesn't matter, so long as he can avoid them. They're destructive, or so the Banshaen said, which Varaknu is unwilling to test for himself. So, pressing himself against the wood-stone, he hopes to stay out of sight as blue eyes survei-

Wow they were /quiet/! If Varaknu had been looking just the wrong way, they would have stuck out like a sore thumb with their unwieldy mismatched garb. They even seem to have pieces of multiple sets as they grab Varaknu by the throat, their dagger going for his gut. In desperation, Varaknu manages to twist away, throwing the dark one down onto the ground, their knives still slicing his side, but its enough time for Varaknu to draw his own blade. Aiming for their throat, Varaknu plants a foot on their chest, the dark one raising their hands and going still, letting their daggers drop. 

Snarling, Varaknu doesn't budge, pressing down harder as he uses his spear to push the knives away, before stabbing his spear through the ugly pauldron of the creature below. Bracing against it, Varaknu tries to remember the words of the gnomes, the awful sounds that parched his throat in Detyre. 

"... Why?" That's the right word, right? Damnit Varaknu should have learned more...

"Wh-why? You can talk?" The dark one stammers, gripping the earth beneath them with fear and awe. "But you're... You're a kobold, right?" Varaknu nods, some small part of him glad to know they didn't ask about the murghan bits. "Lyria... You're a kobold! And you can talk! How did you learn that? Are there others like you? Oh, and sorry for stabbing you! Promise I won't do it again!" They hold up their hands sheepishly, as the torch of confusion passes from the dark one to the once-kobold, Varaknu struggling with the words to comprehend them.

"... Simple, please?" Varaknu wheezes, twisting their spear and scowling at the dark one, who seems to contemplate how to ask simply. 

"... Stay. I will return." They offer, pointing to the wood-stone. Varaknu has no idea what they think they're doing, but if it means they go inside, then Varaknu will be happy. Dislodging his spear, Varaknu nods to the dark one, stepping away beyond the reach of the knives, before turning and fleeing into the woods, the dark one calling after him as he goes. At least Varaknu is free of that thing, though he's now twice as lost for it. He doesn't even recognize this part of the woods, unfamiliar shrubbery rising in the way of any clear sense of direction, the great pillars of "trees", as they're called, rising in his way to obfuscate his goal. He almost wants to scream for fearful frustration, but his unsung call is answered before it can burn his throat as his feet carry him to the lush pools of the Font, and the legendary gates of Ysa. Varaknu remembers this, the stone whispered to him the wonders of the place within, and the kindness of the fae for which it is named. He relaxes, stowing his spear, and decides to approach a meditating creature near one of the two islands in the pool of the font.

He barely encroaches on the font's waters when the fae rises, turning to greet him. "Creature of the Sidhe, what need have you of me?" Ahhh, the voices of the fae are like listening to water and birdsong, soothing the kobold into making his approach.

"I need direction, Fae of Ysa." He offers in his home tongue, the first and best he can muster. It confuses the fae at first, but after a moment, they seem to understand. 

"You are not from the Sidhe - how did you get to this sacred realm?" The blue-skinned fae asks, gesturing with plant-woven fingers to the Font. 

"I am lost, Fae of Ysa, but my clan resides in the side of a hollow - can you find me this place?" Varaknu indicates the direction he /thinks/ is home, but he's still quite lost, with little faith in his directions. "Please, sweet immortal, I am to pass peacefully." 

The fae seems pleased by the supplication, merely nodding and gesturing to follow as they turn, walking through shallow waters to the distant edge of the pool. "I have seen your clan, my wild friend. I will show you them, and you will not return to the font." It doesn't sound like a deal, but Varaknu knows its an invitation, not a demand. 

"I will return only to offer you my thanks, Fae of Ysa." Varaknu bows, before happily trotting along, towards home. The fae seems amused, but is silent the whole way home. They bid the clan good evening and good night, before they go their separate ways, for now.


End file.
